Shaken, vaguely ill, she rolled back, curled herself against Roarke. His arm came around her, drawing her in. Circled in his warmth, she pretended to sleep again.
– -«»--«»--«»--
She said nothing to Roarke of the dream the next morning. Didn’t know if she should, or could. She wanted to lock it away, but she felt it pushing at her as she went through her morning routine.
It was a relief that Roarke had a morning full of meetings and she could slip around him and out of the house with little conversation.
He read her too well and too easily-a talent that was both a wonder and an irritation to her-and she wasn’t ready to explore what she’d remembered.
Her mother was a whore and a junkie, and had never wanted the child she’d made. More than not wanted. Had despised and abhorred.
What difference did it make? Eve asked herself as she drove downtown. Her father had been a monster. Was it any worse to know her mother had been the same? It changed nothing.
She parked at Central, made her way up to her office. With every step inside the busy hive of Central, she felt more herself. The weight of her weapon comforted her, as did the knowledge that her badge was in her pocket.
Roarke had called them her symbols once, and so they were. Symbols of who and what she was.
She walked through the bullpen where the morning shift was settling in. She detoured by Peabody’s cube just as her aide was knocking back the last of a glide-cart coffee.
“Thomas A. Breen,” Eve began, and rattled off an East Village address. “Contact him, set up a meeting ASAP. We’ll go to him.”
“Yes, sir. Rough night?” At Eve’s silent stare Peabody shrugged. “Don’t look like you got much sleep, that’s all. Neither did I. Cramming for the exam. It’s coming up soon.”
“You want regular eight straights, you don’t pick up the badge. Set up the interview. Then we’re doing follow-ups on the list, starting with Fortney.” She started to walk away, then turned back. “You can over-study, you know.”
“I know, but I was really blowing the sims. I nailed two last night. That’s the first time I felt like I had a handle.”
“Good.” Eve stuck her thumbs in her pockets, drummed her fingers. “Good,” she repeated and headed to her office to nag the lab for updates on Gregg.
The bickering with Dickhead put her in a cheerier mood as she read over the ME’s reports. Morris was going with surgical grade on the weapons used on Wooton. Her tox screen confirmed that her system was clear of chemicals.
Since she wasn’t using, spending time trying to find her former dealer wasn’t priority.
The canvasses of Chinatown and the surrounding areas had come up zero, one more time.
– -«»--«»--«»--
“No trace of semen with Gregg,” Eve told Peabody as they headed to the Village. “ME findings indicate she was raped and sodomized, with the broomstick only. No prints on-scene other than hers, family members, and two neighbors who’re clear. Hair fibers, manmade. Dickhead thinks wig and mustache, but isn’t ready to commit.”
“So we think he wore a disguise.”
“In case he was seen around the neighborhood. He had to keep tabs on her, a few weeks, I’d say. Solidify her Sunday routine. How’d he pick her, though? Out of a fucking hat? How does he target this particular LC, this particular woman?”
“Maybe there’s some connection. A place they shopped, ate, did business. A doctor, a bank.”
“Possible, and it’s a good line for you to tug. I’m more inclined to think it was the area first. Neighborhood. Select the setting, then the character, then put on your play.”
“Speaking of neighborhoods, this is really nice.” Peabody gazed out at shady sidewalks, large old houses, pretty urban gardens planted in window boxes or pots. “I could go for this one day. You know, when I settle down, start thinking family and stuff. You ever think about that? Kids and all.”
Eve thought of the hate-filled eyes, staring at her out of a dream. “No.”
“Tons of time and all. I figure maybe to think about it in six, eight years anyway. Definitely going to be taking McNab on a long test drive before I commit to more than cohabbing. Hey, your eye didn’t twitch.”
“Because I’m not listening to you.”
“Are, too,” Peabody muttered when Eve pulled to the curb. “He’s been really great working with me for the exam. It makes a difference having somebody rooting for me. He really wants it for me because I want it. That’s… well, that’s just solid.”
“McNab’s a moron the majority of the time, but he’s in love with you.”
“Dallas!” Peabody shifted in her seat so sharply her cap tipped over one eye. “You said the ‘L’ word and ‘McNab’ in the same sentence. Voluntarily.”
“Just shut up.”
“Happy to.” With a happy smile, she squared her cap. “I’m just going to savor in silence.”
– -«»--«»--«»--
They walked three houses down to a three-story home that Eve imagined had once been a multifamily dwelling. Writing about killers was obviously profitable if Breen could afford something this up-market.
She went up a short flight of flagstoned steps to the main entrance, noted the full security system that must have made the man confident enough to keep the etched glass panes on either side of the front door.
There was a wife as well, she knew from her quick background check, and a two-year-old boy. Breen collected partial professional-father pay from the government as primary at-home parent while his wife earned a substantial salary as a VP and managing editor of a fashion rag called Outré.
A nice, tidy setup, Eve mused, as she rang the bell and held up her badge for scan.
Breen answered the door himself with his son sitting astride his shoulders. The boy was holding on to Breen’s blond hair like the reins on a horse.
“Go, ride!” the boy shouted and kicked his feet.
“Only this far, partner.” Breen hooked his hands around the boy’s ankles, either to anchor him,Eve thought, or to stop the busy little heels from digging holes in his armpits. “LieutenantDallas?”
“That’s right. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me,Mr.Breen.”
“No problem. Always happy to talk to the cops, and I’ve followed your work. I’m hoping to do a book onNew York murders eventually, and figure you’ll be one of my prime sources.”
“You’ll have to talk to public relations at Central about that. Can we come in?”
“Oh yeah, sure. Sorry.”
He stepped back. He was in his thirties, of strong, medium build. From the definition in his arms, Eve doubted he sat at a computer all day. He had a good face, handsome without being soft.
“Blaster!” the boy called out as he spotted Eve’s weapon under her jacket. “Zappit!”
Breen laughed, flipped the child off his shoulders in a rapid and smooth move that had the kid squealing in delight. “Jed here’s a little bloodthirsty. Runs in the family. I’m just going to set him up with the droid, then we can talk.”
“No droid!” The kid’s face went from angelic to mutinous in a heartbeat. “Stay with Daddy!”
“Just for a little while, champ; then we’ll go out to the park.” He tickled the boy into giggles as he charged up the steps with him.
“Nice to see a guy handle a kid that way, and enjoy it,” Peabody commented.
“Yeah. Wonder what a guy, a successful guy, thinks about pulling in a professional-father stipend, dealing with an offspring, while the mother’s being a busy exec at a major firm every day. Some guys would resent that. Some might think the little lady’s pushy, domineering. Maybe his mother was the same-Breen’s mother is a neurologist and his father went the professional-parent route. You know,” Eve added, looking up the stairs, “some guys would build up a nasty little resentment of women over that kind of setup.”